


50 Snapshots of Sirius’ Sister: The Star Killer, Symmetry Breaker

by RedIce



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, F/M, Gen, Growing Up, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, Letters, M/M, Multi, POV Regulus Black, Regulus Black Feels, Regulus Black-centric, Reincarnation, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 07:52:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19352698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedIce/pseuds/RedIce
Summary: Regula is dead. Sirius goes through Regula’s things and finds a box under the floorboards under the bed. Inside the box is a trunk with a library and shelves full of potions and boxes upon boxes named by people Sirius knows. Some say “C” or “D” or even “A,” but the majority say “S.” Sirius takes out all the boxes and burns them, letters and books and vials falling out and scattering, his fiendfyre barely controlled.The air is heavy and pulsing with heat and wild magick. Around him, broken potions color the flame a kaleidoscope of brilliance for split seconds, sounding little explosions as they ignite. A sheet of paper flutters to the ground beside him and Sirius only catches snippets of Regula’s flowing script and runes before it burns, devoured in the hungry blue mouths of twin wolves.“... I’m so scared, please…”“...worth everything if it’s for my Sry…”“...rk mark is irrevers…”“...It’s okay…”Sirius tries to stop the flames. He fails.





	50 Snapshots of Sirius’ Sister: The Star Killer, Symmetry Breaker

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first half of the 50 snapshots of Sirius' Sister: The Star Killer, Symmetry Breaker. Please leave comments and critique, as well as anything else.

1.

 

Sirius cannot wait for his Hogwarts letter.

 

Sirius listens for Regula as she goes up the stairs, everything silent but muffled breath hitching so quiet and few Sirius isn’t sure if he's hearing it or not. But what Sirius is sure is that he’s heard Walgabura scream, shrill and terrifying even through seven layers of walls and a subpar muffling charm. Sirius doesn’t hear Regula, though. He never does, even when he tries to listen, hidden behind the drapes of the alcove, straining for a hint that Walgabura or Orion or Bellatrix will remember Sirius and turn their magic on him. He just hears her breathe, sometimes.

 

Sometimes, he hears nothing at all. During those times, Sirius feels like a coward. But a coward is what Sirius has ever been.

 

Sirius catches the moment Regula spots him. Her eyes soften, and she smiles. Feels her hand on his shoulder, sliding to his back. Hears her whisper, “It’s okay.” Sees her slowly hobble into her room.

 

Sirius cannot wait for his Hogwarts letter.

 

2.

 

Regula’s back itches when she tries to sleep, so she started wearing a shirt. That helped, for a few weeks. So she started using lotion. It still itches, though, traveling from her shoulders down her spine to her hips and the back of her thighs. Nothing really helps, so she ignores the itch and count her breaths until Merlin pads in and reaches underneath the comforter and scratches at her exposed flesh, his eyes wild in the darkness.

 

In the daytime, Merlin curls up in the sun, paws beneath tail beneath chin. Sometimes, if right after a licking, his coat scintillates, glossy until it dries. Today, though, Merlin is all fur, more fluff than cat. When he shifts to yawn, a little mane settles around his chest.

 

Merlin sleeps. Regula does not.

 

3.

 

When Sirius was little, he used to slide into his little sister’s bed and let her tiny weight comfort him. Even when he was little, Regula never seemed like a little sister - she was always big.

 

4.

 

Regula slips into the warmth of her heating charm, muscles relaxing into the little pinpricks of pain scattering across her cuts and burns. She knows of what is happening, even though Cissy and Lucius and Andromeda try to hide it under layers of etiquette and pretense.

 

Tom Riddle is rising.

 

She’s known this all her life. But Cissy has confirmed possibility into reality. And she knows well how she dies, too: gutted and driven mad, stranded on an island moated by inferi with her last words to a half-senile house elf and her last breath regretting the pain and mess she’s left Sirius to live through, dragged into the depths of the water.

 

Regula knows that this is a death she cannot afford. Not if she wants to protect Sirius.

(She does not dare to think to live beyond the cave.)

 

So Regula slides between her schoolbooks and papers. She takes out a very ordinary notebook, unlocking it with a wisp of her blood. She’s bleeding somewhere, most of the time. It’s no trouble. She writes:

 

_43: D_

_56: HC_

_57: SL_

_67: RD_

_79: SL, Cave_

 

Regula knows that the few spells and potions she’s done so far are not vaguely enough to survive the next few years. If she survives at all. By this rate, she’ll die before stepping foot in that inescapable cave.

 

At the core, keeping Sirius safe means keeping him away from Walgabura. Orion. Bellatrix. It means trying to prevent a dawning war. It means killing Voldemort.

 

It means not dying until she makes sure the dark cannot touch Sirius.

 

Regula knows that it is an impossible task. But she would try and try, especially if she dies. A correction: even if she dies, she means.

 

5.

 

 _Headmaster Dumbledore,_ Regula writes.

 

_I write to you to make a case for me to attend Hogwarts two years early. Although unusual, I implore you to consider the attached letters of recommendation and the résumé. I am confident that I will be academically ready for the upcoming term. If in the case that I would need to be assessed, please owl back and we can decide a time and place ASAP._

 

_-Sincerely,_

 

_Regula Black_

 

Regula pads over to Apollo, tying the parchment to her leg. The gyrfalcon pecks at her hair, a failing attempt at grooming.

 

“Take this to Hogwarts, Apollo,” she sighs, petting the falcon’s head. She’s white all over with some brown crowning. She’s beautiful. Behind them, Merlin stretches and jumps onto the desk, headbutting Apollo.

 

Apollo hoots back.

 

“Don’t let anyone see you.” Apollo nods and hops to the windowsill. With a flap of her wings, she's off, a thing of pure white flying above the golden-red cliff edges and grey sparkle of the hanging mountain icicles.

 

6.

 

She dies, sometimes. It’s foggy, from a dream. Sharp and soft all at once, like an exhale melting hoarfrost. It’s terrifying but removed, everything skin-sharp but distant, as if it’s happening to a strange version of her.

 

_Clocks ticking. Chairs tipping back too far. Feet slipping on stairs. Cold hands clawing at her flesh._

 

She lives, too. She knows of what she could be, but she doesn’t want that life. It’s not her. It belongs to the real Regula, who lives a hero’s life. Dies a hero’s death. It’s never her.

 

7.

 

Cissy and Lucius come over. Voldemort is rising. They are to be wed.

 

8.

 

_Regula Black,_

 

_This indeed is a very unusual case. I have checked in with headmaster Albus Dumbledore, who has acquiesced to your early entry into Hogwarts. Through your letters of recommendation and résumé, I have determined that it would not be detrimental to your academic progress to admit you next term. You are allowed to attend Hogwarts early, but you should not take this lightly. If I perceive in any way that you are not ready, I will not hesitate to hold you back or suspend you from Hogwarts for the remainder of the year._

 

_-Best,_

 

_Deputy Headmistress Minerva McGonagall_

 

9.

 

Regula spies a drag of red on Sirius. She feels a sudden chill seize her insides. It holds her still. She cannot move. She hasn’t heard screaming. It was always supposed to be her. Never Sirius. Never, never Sirius.

 

“Sirius,” she says. Sirius’ left eye is bleeding. His limbs hold the familiar trembling of the _Cruciatus_. “Sirius.”

 

Sirius hesitates for a second. Then, in the silence of the hallway, he spins away and runs for his room.

 

“Sirius!”

 

He slams his door shut.

 

10.

 

Regula watches Sirius as he receives his first wand, scarlet and amethyst sparking out merrily. Love and loyalty. Sirius smiles wide and genuine, the first in a long time. Ollivander muses, “There has never been a Black with such a light wand as you.”

 

Regula watches as Sirius shops for his books, and robes, and chest. Sirius marvels, childlike, at the broom shop. Sirius makes friends with a boy with messy, curly black hair and twinkling hazel eyes. Sirius eats ice cream with him, and he laughs, loud and carefree.

 

Sirius is happy. Regula wishes Sirius could stay in that moment, forever. Regula wishes it so much that it hurts.

 

Regula continues to distract Orion.

 

11.

 

“Is anyone sitting here?” Sirius has just grabbed the curly black hair boy’s arm and claimed a booth to themselves. From beyond the sliding door, Regula hears chortling.

 

“No,” Regula answers. The girl asking is quietly brave, arms halfway akimbo. When she looks up, the girl’s vermillion hair seems to hover, and her viridescent eyes blaze. Regula inhales. Tastes petrichor on her tongue. The girl is infused with magic.

 

“My name is Lily Evans, and this is Severus Snape,” the girl declares. Lily, Regula decides, is wild, like diamond dust and the crackle of lightning. Lily is what Regula hopes Sirius can grow to be. Severus, on the other hand, is surviving, not living. Severus is what Regula hopes Sirius never becomes.

 

“Pleasure meeting you. My name is Regula Black.”

 

12.

 

“Slytherin!” The sorting hat declares. Regula is not Ravenclaw. Not Hufflepuff. Not Gryffindor.

 

 _Be brave_ , she tells herself. _Chin up._ And-

 

_If I am perfect, maybe then it would be easier for Sirius to be-_

 

“Gryffindor!”

 

Sirius walks, eyes alight, to the House of Lions. Away from her. It seems, now, that he is always walking away.

 

The polite clapping overlaps with the ticking of a broken clock.

 

13.

 

“Very good, Miss Black. Perfect on the first try, no less!” Professor Slughorn has always been liberal with his praise. Regula wishes it were not so.

 

“Almost there, Mr. Black. I wish you had your sister’s talent. But alas, there can only be one reigning Black in potions.” Slughorn smiles, consolingly, and moves on. It looks condescending. Sirius thinks so, too.

 

The next time Regula looks up, Sirius is glaring at her from across the room.

 

14.

 

In the morning, Regula scans the ceiling for howlers. She’s been practicing distanced, wordless _Evanesco_ s. She’s only had to use it thrice so far.

 

This morning, Apollo swoops down and settles to peck lazily at her toast. Regula unties the letter from Apollo’s leg and slides it into her sleeves. Lilly doesn’t say anything about it. Severus looks at Regula, though, through breakfast and classes and the potions study session.

 

At night, under a privacy ward and a hushed _Lumos_ , Regula dares to read.

 

_Regula,_

 

 _I don’t know how much you know, but there’s been so much going on. Lucius and I are afraid that our son is going to grow up in a world filled with Voldemort’s supporters and force us to commit crimes against the laws of the Sacred 28. I can’t talk about it, really. His name is under a mutilated_ Fidelious _. So many already died. So many are dying._

 

_He has a mission for you. I don’t know much about it, other than that it must be completed within 3 years, and that a house elf is needed. He is maddening in discrete steps. The other day, I saw that there was a red glint in his eyes. He has delved deep into dark magicks._

 

_DO NOT REPLY. Don’t talk about this with anyone. I barely could write this letter. Do not think about this with Bella. Nor Rabastan. Nor Lucius. And especially not Sirius._

 

_But you already know that._

 

_Just- please, Regula, be careful. Heed my warnings. I know not when I can freely contact you next. His eyes and ears are everywhere._

 

_-Cissy_

  


Dumbledore keeps a sharp eye on Regula. He kept an equally sharp eye on Sirius, intensity waning by the sixth time Sirius and Remus and James were dragged by Filch like naughty kittens in his office after curfew, wriggling and petulant, still high from the thrill of their prank.

 

Regula only sees Sirius at a distance. Regula has not spoken to Sirius since a month before their Hogwarts letter. Regula has heard mocking whispers circulating through Slytherin of Sirius hating Regula, of Sirius wanting to renounce his Black name, of Sirius wishing to pursue a muggle education in mechanical engineering after Hogwarts.

 

Regula understands this. Regula wants Sirius to be free and untamed, scores brighter than the sun. Regula wants to be the earth in a syzygy, shielding the sun from touching the darkness of the moon. Regula wants Sirius to be everything she cannot be.

 

Regula wants-

 

16.

 

~~_Sirius:_ ~~

~~_I’m sorry._ ~~

 

~~_-R.A.B._ ~~

 

17.

 

Kretcher has always been loyal. Regula knows this. All house-elves are, by the nature of their bond. Kretcher, though, is especially loyal, because Kretcher is Regula’s only confidant. Bound by service, chained in secrecy, Kretcher holds the weight of Regula’s past and present and future.

 

And now, the cave is five years too early.

 

Regula plans to spend a whole day with Kretcher in two weeks. Then, after that day, they will go to the cave.

 

18.

 

Sirius:

I love you. I’ve always loved you. ~~I will always love you. Don’t forget that when I’m gone. Blacks are stars, born from starburst into dying in stardust-~~

 

19.

 

It’s the day before Christmas Eve. Regula holds a piece of parchment between her fingers.

 

“So nobody will know of it, until I pass,” breathes Regula. Ragnuk LXV nods, the metalwork of his clothing shifting like scales as he moves. It glints in the light of the hearth.

 

“And nobody can claim it is not mine.” Regula dares not to look beyond the glistening gold chainmail and into the flames. Regula has no need to look into Ragnuk’s eyes. Like elves, goblins cannot lie.

 

“Yes, Heiress Black.”

 

“And you will ensure it is carried out?” Parts of the fire flare, then sputter, then flare. She feels the Ragnuk’s magic, excited like the first time a child steals a potion from an apothecary.

 

“So there is no way it will not be fulfilled. It will also stay undisclosed to any sentient or non sentient entity until my death, until which only my immediate family will be informed. You are to safeguard it and any versions I write and approve of thereafter with your life. You are to be discrete. You’re interests are to be mine, and mine alone. Not Lady Black’s. Not Tom Riddle. Not Bellatrix Lestrange. Swear this, Ragnuk.”

 

Through the culmination of months, Regula knows Ragnuk’s greed. It is a short-sighted material greed that can be easily chained by rich vaults and Goblin silver.

 

Regula feels Ragnuk’s magic settle and rise, fettered but electrified. Feels his magic become something unto plasma, manifesting from four-dimensional space to four-dimensional space-time, rotating and coalescing like a newborn star. Feels the infinity of the universe, possibilities upon possibilities upon possibilities. Feels the age in her bones. Feels too much and nothing at all.

 

Ragnuk steps forward, taking her hand into his. Regula inhales. Exhales.

 

“So mote the Last Will and Testament of Regula Arctura Black, with the fulfillment of-”

  


It wasn’t even that bad- the worst is when Orion would throw dirty sickles down to her feet and comes closer and closer, until she can smell the decadance on his breathe and she feels so pinned she feels like she is facing death. Then, he would touch her. Sometimes, he would take her away to touch her. Sometimes, he doesn’t care enough to hide his sins and just touches her right there and then, in full view of Walburga or Sirius or Cissy or Andromeda.

 

A few times, Lucius saw. Even after Orion leaves, though, Lucius never says anything. Neither does Walburga, or Sirius, or Cissy, or Andromeda. Nobody ever says anything. That’s what cut the most in the beginning. Before, she thought it was a kind of betrayal. Now, older, she understands that all they wanted was to protect themselves.

 

21.

 

Regula feels wrong in all the ways that matter. It’s alright, though. It’s always alright.

 

22.

 

Regula floos to the Potters. She fights the nausea to scan the foyer for Sirius. She needs to talk to him.

 

Regula’s hand is halfway outstretched to touch Sirius’ sleeve. Potter stops midlaugh. Lupin’s eyes are reflect yellow in the light of the fireplace. Pettigrew is nowhere to be seen.

 

“Sirius, I need to talk to you.”

 

Sirius’ eyes flicker to her hand to her neck to her face. Regula quickly adjusts her scarf and stuffs her hand in her pocket. She’s trembling. She just tried to talk with Orion. She needs to talk to Sirius.

 

Sirius chuffs. “What do you have to say to me?” His eyes are distant, like a stranger’s.

 

“Sir-”

 

“Don’t Siri me! It’s not Syr or Siri; it’s Sirius.” His chest heaves. His eyes are still distant. Potter stares at them both, enraptured. Lupin watches them from his corner, legs bent and ready. “And whatever you have to say to me, you can say it in front of the Marauders, too.”

 

Regula swallows. Her breath is shallow, her knees locked. She’s grateful Sirius didn't ask her to remove the _glamour_. She’s grateful Sirius still cares that much.

 

“La crise de V,” Regula starts, but then spies Potter’s eyes narrowing. “Está aumentando y W a dicho que los traidores están prohibidos en su casa. Queda aquí, en secreto, por favor.” Regula takes in a breath. Sirius is still listening, or pretending to listen. Potter’s face sports a bit of confusion. That is enough for Regula. “Y cuando pensas que este lugar no está seguro, huye, rápidamente. Prométemelo.”

 

Sirius’ face betrays no emotion, but his magic swirls tighter and tighter as each word passes. Regula feels Sirius’ magical core revolving, picking up velocity and wind and mass. Sirius’ magic is so ready to act that when the fringes of his magic’s nucleus cross the border between space and time it electrifies the air between them. Like a carrington-class coronal mass ejection. Sirius is Regula’s brightest star.

 

Regula knows that Potter has understood some, but hopefully not all. Lupin, luck willing, understood none.

 

Sirius inhales. “Get out.”

 

Regula spins and floos back to the Black Manor.

 

23.

 

One month until the cave. Kretcher is in place. So is Ragnuk. Regula hopes that she will be prepared for Sirius in time.

  


“Sirius-”

 

“Leave him alone!” Potter bands with Lupin and Pettigrew in the hallway beside Sirius. The tapestry behind them bleed Gryffindor red. They look fierce and foolhardy. Young, despite upper years’ frantic discussions behind closed doors and cold war stress that permeates idyllic Hogwarts life.

 

The image of the Marauders reminds Regula of what she hopes Sirius to stay as so hard she wants to cry, even through Potter’s sharp rejection of her existence.

 

Regula steps forward, a note in her hand. “I-”

 

Lupin prowls a step, tension in all his limbs. “Potter said, ‘leave Sirius alone.’” Lupin sneers, mouth almost tilting feral. “Get a clue, Black.”

 

Regula lets the note flutter to the cold stones of the Gryffindor tower. Takes one last look at Sirius. Steps back.

 

Then walks away.

  


Sometimes, when Regula is feeling nostalgic, she will go through their journals together. She bought them a pair of linking books, bleeding the words that Regula writes to Sirius’ paper, so that they could both confess anything and everything without saying a word.

 

Regula bought the books for them for Sirius’ seventh birthday, escaping away to Knockturn Alley after a particularly loud morning of Orion slurring drunken insults and aiming fire whisky bottles to her head. It wasn’t a bad morning, except it was Sirius’ birthday and nobody had spared him a glance. Regula spent as much time with him as she could, but she was one person, and her love could not replace his seven-year-old hope of love from his family.

 

The kind of all-encompassing love and attention that an ideal family would give. The kind of big love that fills hearts up so full they’ll burst. The kind, Regula knows, that she can never give.

 

So Regula _glamoured_ the Sirius and Portkeyed them away, dirty galleons and sickles heavy in her pouch. It ended up being one of the most memorable days she’s had. They walked all over the Alleys, hand in hand with Florean Fortescue’s ice cream, gasping in wonder at Flourish and Blotts and Quality Quidditch Supplies and Eeylop’s Owl Emporium.

 

It was lucky that Orion didn’t mention that he had a son and a daughter, only that he had a son. It was lucky that Orion didn’t think she mattered enough to exist in the pureblood circles. Regula was lucky enough, that when she bought the matching journals, nobody batted an eye.

 

Now, nearly six years later, Sirius doesn’t write in it anymore. He didn’t write in it for a long time. At first, Regula used the journals to help Sirius through whatever troubles he didn’t want to talk about. They must have spent hundreds of thousands of hours writing to each other. Regula remembered learning the ever-replenishing paper charm to reapply the spell once it was near worn. Now, Regula won’t be surprised if Sirius has forgotten that the journals exist.

 

The journal is the same, as always. She watches how their personality and relationship evolve with their handwriting. She likes how Sirius has taken his steps, slowly but surely into someone who thinks for themselves and lives how they want.

 

Regula is suddenly tired. But-

 

There. A new entry, from Sirius.

 

_Future Me,_

 

_I hope that you are happy. That life is better, and that you are better than what I am now. I write to you in the hopes of living beyond myself. That I have finally become someone I’m proud of, that I have become someone to be loved. I write to you in the hopes that I become someone that can face death without regrets, because I cannot live with myself otherwise._

 

_I don’t know what the future brings. But this is me, right now. I’m eleven and a coward and alone. Sometimes, I feel so scared that I want to kill myself silently, and let my soul slip out into void. I’m always scared. But this is me. And this is me, writing to you in the hopes that you are someone who is brave and kind and good. Someone who has friends, who makes people laugh and who always help people who need help, even if it hurts yourself._

 

_This is me, writing to you in the hope that I am someone who is a hero._

**Author's Note:**

> Questions, comments, critiques? Please leave them down below!


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